Reminiscent Threnody
by AfterEver
Summary: A series of short vignettes, spanning the Ages. Elrond POV, 1st person. Cameos by Elros, Cirdan, Gil-galad, Celebrian, and Glorfindel. Complete.
1. Interlude in Remembrance

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_Disclaimer: Middle-earth and all characters therein are Copyright of Tolkien and his estate and/or enterprise. No infringement is intended by this publication, and no profit is being made. Fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only. _

_AN: Special thanks to Lyllyn for beta-reading. _   


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**The ending of the First Age**   


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It is far too late to be looking for things. I am too old to need 'things'. I vowed never to _want_ things. But here I stand, on the shores of where once was the Havens of Sirion, searching for some thing, some miniscule trinket or worthless token that I am wise enough to know cannot now be found; will never be found, as what no longer exists shall remain ever unknown. 

Yet here I am, as so many before me are not. They are ashes, they who died for me, the son of their Lord and Lady, the heir to their precious Jewel – that cursed Silmaril. 

My former home fell hard, that much can still be known by looking at what remains; a charred prow here, a broken hearth there. But there is no warmth left by fire's fury, no footprints remain in bloodied sand, no moans of the dying or screams of the striving echo through this night. For the quiet and stillness I am both glad and denied; glad for solitude and closure, but denied the chance to preserve this place by a memento. I would weep to hold a piece of that time in my hand, keep the past protected and near, remembered and mourned. Word of mouth does not hold the strength it used to. If I would have this tale known I must speak of it well indeed without any evidence as proof, unless there be the pain and terror of that night still reflected in my eyes. 

So many deaths, so much heartache... So here I stand. 

My King is calling me, though not in words – but I feel his plea even from the Sea where he sails, and I shall go to him now, to meet him on new land, and establish with him his new Kingdom. I leave this shore behind willingly, as before I was wrenched painfully away. I go, though not entirely of my choice alone, for if I were to stay, the rising tide would sweep me under unto my death. Dwelling is not really a choice at all, hence neither is departing; I do what I must, and pretend it is my will. 

The world is changing. Already, I feel it beginning. I wonder in the end, what will be left of anything. And I mourn, for I hold to me nothing of the past, save my memories that may fade, as reminder of what once was. And I know not what will be, but that I fear it. 

Returning to my horse I mount him respectfully. We shall ride to the east as we were charged, where it will be safe as the Valar claimed. Safe until darkness returns, and darkness always returns. In the north, there is returned darkness even now, an angry and evil sort. Under cloud and storm, amid thunder and lightning, there rages a battle twixt darkness and light. 

Angband rings with battle. I hear the clashing of metal from where I stand far south, I feel the vibrations of the marching Host of Valinor upon this earth, I smell burning orc-flesh potent as death itself, and I know nothing will ever be the same. I sense Morgoth's power cannot be contained even within all of Anfauglith; his forces bleed outwards, meeting the Host sooner than anticipated, and war is now fought. 

Bless the Valar, for this strife is beyond Iluvatar's children alone, beyond us poor fools in Exile. And bless Earendil, for he saw further than all, and spoke on behalf of those who were silent. 

My horse goes on through the night, and my heart grows cold for a time. 

I sense failure in the lands to which I travel, and it unnerves me even ere I arrive. I sense sorrow, loss, and unloved victory; looming, drawing nearer, closing in. Already I feel suffocated by afflictions I have not yet endured. There is also light beyond, and peace and hope; but such rewards are far away, and bought with a heavy due, and I fear I may break long before I rejoice. 

Yet it is all I can do to continue. Indeed, it is my lot now, to remain and prevail; for like my patents I have accepted the privilege of the Firstborn. I have forsaken Iluvatar's gift to Men, and chosen Immortality, to abide by the measure of this world. Yea, that I have done, that choice at least was mine, and I made it freely. 

And though I considered all other eventualities, I did not consider that my brother would choose differently... But it matters not; I cannot _permit_ it to affect me as perhaps it should, for grief can be fatal. That also I considered, and perhaps it is why I believed Elros would not leave me – alas that he shall. 'Tis wrong in some way, I am certain, to conceive of one's own worth to another. I never will, again. To be wise, I must learn from my mistakes, not wallow or repeat them. And though I am immortal, I have not the time to brood. I must go forth, to the inevitable. Nay, I 'must' not. I _choose_ to. 

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	2. Reflections

******* _'In Middle-earth dwelt also Gil-galad the High King, and with him Elrond Half-elven, who chose, as was granted him, to be numbered among the Eldar; but Elros his brother chose to abide with Men.'_  
--Tolkien 

**442 of the Second Age**   


My brother is dead. 

He had been dying little by little, day after day, for over four hundred years. I knew this as well as he did, but we ignored it. It was easier that way, more diplomatic. I pretended I did not notice as silver began to streak his black hair over the centuries. He pretended to not notice that I stood a little taller than him with every visit, as his back gently bent with age. Not the graceful, empowering maturing of the Elves; like hardy trees, Elves root deeper into the earth and the past, wearing ever better against the weather of change, the longer they thrive. Old, wise, and hale trees; that is what Elves are like. For my part as well, I suppose, I am one of those fair trees in a forest of many. But _Mortal_ age, menacing and deadly; that is what took my brother. 

My brother grew old and died, right before my immortal eyes. 

'The gift of man,' he said to me, eager to accept it, meaning to convince me to do the same. 

Any other Elf might have been fooled. But the blood of Men too flowed in my veins, and I think in his senility, Elros Tar-Minyatur sometimes forgot that. 

'Aye, brother,' said I. 'What about it?' 

Elros sniffed, gazing beyond the Sea from the watchtower where we stood, looking for something beyond the horizon that only a mortal would care to find. 'I will receive it soon,' he said, 'gladly.' 

His tone was honest, and Iluvatar help me if I did not wish for a moment he would resist instead. But the moment passed; a gift was a gift, even if to some it might seem as otherwise. 'So be it,' said I. 

'Do not return again, Elrond, ere I am gone,' he went on. 'It would pain you too much, to see me any nearer to departing than I stand now.' 

'You would not have your brother bid you farewell ere the end?' asked I, avoiding the issue for as long as I could. And immortals are accomplished at stalling against change, more so than any. 

'I would indeed. On the morrow, we part ways for the last time, until we meet again beyond the circles of this world, if it be so destined.' 

Ever a believer that the two kindreds would be reunited after the end of all things, my brother was. Yet I was not ready to give a final farewell, as I believed it would be. It was too soon, much too soon. But I said, 'As you wish, brother. It is your funeral.' And we laughed. 

In the orange glow of early morning sunlight, the first King of Numenor and I parted ways, but not for the last time. The wind confided in me as much, as did my dreams the night before. As the ship sailed away, taking me with it, Cirdan stood by my side at the prow, smiling in his shrewd and easy way. 

Farseeing he was, though not so near to the subject of his knowledge as I. My brother was dying, and with him a piece of me would shrivel and die as well. Had Cirdan known which piece of me it would be, I think no smile could have reached his face that morning. 

I wrote a poem for Elros as I sailed home, sharing it with no one. Only once I read it before tossing it to Sea. The parchment fluttered in the wind, and fell to the waves, soaked all that it could, and tore asunder, carried under, destroyed. No likeness of a great white bird rose from the foam and flew to the heavens. I wept for all that was not, and thought I heard someone singing alone by the shore. 

Little of that poem can I remember now. Some time after returning to the mainland, I wrote a song with what remained of a verse I cared to recall, and never sang it aloud but once, for no one to hear but the air. That music I also destroyed, by fire. 

The years passed swiftly, as time is prone to do: Elven time, that is. Not a day went by in which I did not expect to collapse where I stood, broken with the sudden cognizance that my brother had gone. I found myself waiting for that moment, which never came. But a summons did. 

All a pretense, an excuse to be civil and politic, because we can. As if I could not tell the pen that wrote the words was cradled in frail fingers, held by a trembling hand and guided by a weak arm. Elros asked me to sail to him, not a quarter of a century after he sent me away. The poor thing probably forgot he meant to spare me the pain. I would not remind him when I arrived, of course. To do so would not be courteous, it would be unbecoming. All a pretense. But no reason we both should suffer, for any reason. So I forgot his earlier proffered kindness, tucked his folded letter in a pocket over my heart, and sailed that very week. 

We spoke sparsely together, for little strength remained within him. He smiled at my presence, relieved that I had come not too late, and said all he could, whenever he was able. 

He _chose_ to go, like many of his lineage after him. But for days before that, he was visited and pampered by his family, sipped hot soup and napped in his bed by the fire, smiled often and held on by a thread. He did not resist death as I had once selfishly wished he would, but rather lingered respectfully alive, maybe to prove that he also could. 

But I knew why, really. Elros always did relish attention. It had little to do with keeping an even score with Elven capacities; he simply cherished being doted upon, and not a single one of his kin did not gladly contribute to coddling him in his last days. 

Finally, just ere the end, he looked at me and nodded. Then his eyes fluttered without shutting, and he fell into the waking sleep of the Firstborn, as he had not done for a half-millennia. He dreamt there a while, as I watched over his pleasant dreams, and then the light left his eyes. What once burned fiery like the sun faded to a pale moonish glow, then faint as a faraway star, and lastly was no more. 

I believe the light did not extinguish, but it did indeed leave. I felt him go, I heard the whisper of my twin's mind dissipate to a chilling silence, I stood there as my mirror image lay dead before me, I felt my skin grow cold with the realization that I was completely alone, despite how many mortals stood around me. And though I did not stand there for long, the loneliness has yet to abandon my destitute heart, as I fled that as good as empty room. 

The burial was something I never wished to see, but Elros' family would not have understood that, so I did not tell them. The blood of Elvenkind flows potent through my veins, and I think in their likening of me to my brother, Elros' closest kin sometimes forgot that. 

I was glad for the company, for the most part. Though several times I unwittingly sent a grandniece or distant sister-by-law into grievous tears, and I could have lived without such helpless guilt. Even my eldest nephew, then the new King, turned from me once in pain of remembrance. It was difficult for them, I imagine, to attend the funeral for a man whose mirror image too attended. Personally, I was heartened that I could be reminded of my brother's visage, any time I looked in a mirror. But even then, it was no surprise that the hearts of Edain mystified me. 

That was long ago. Most of those who stood beside me on that day are also now dead, or were too young at the time to note my presence. It is more seldom that I sail to Numenor these days, though Cirdan is ever accommodating when I do. It is not so strange, my resemblance to the first King of that realm, for none now live who knew Elros in his youth; save those of Elvenkind who could tell my face apart from his, regardless. 

Of late I think less frequently upon those days. Some memories should be preserved, shared, sacred; while others bring heartache and sorrow. For me, such memories should be revealed only when their unveiling could teach one a lesson, save another from falling under the same shadow, prevent others from suffering a similar hurt. 

Some do not want to be spared. I would accept salvation, were it offered to me. I always would have. 

Elros is often in my thoughts; I miss being the brother of more than a memory. I wish I had kept his poem. Perhaps one day, I will bring myself to write another for him. 

But until that time, I await the distant light I spied so long ago. It seems long ago, and that is a strange feeling. Sorrow and loss I have now suffered, though unloved victory is not yet come, and I feel that I have not lost enough to deny myself joy of some achievement, and I am not so sorrowful to renounce triumph over an ordeal. So now through the imminence of yet more heartache and dispossession, I cannot see the distant light, nor the peace or hope. Though I do still sense the failure, the unloved victory. It is pending, and denial is futile. Another end and another beginning after it, neither of which I care particularly to see. 

Once again I have more to lose than I ever meant to acquire. Not 'things' as such, but emotional attachments. This Age will be the demise of me, or someone. Nay, not me; I foresee my lot, and it spans further than I wish to tarry, even now. Yea, that I chose my own fate. Well, how wise could I have been at the age of fifty? 

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	3. That Attained and What Remains

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**The Last Alliance**   


It was newly dark, when I retired to rest that night. I had watched the sun set, though it never completely broke through the dense clouds that blackened the land of Mordor, not even at mid-day. But I had grown accustomed to telling time by the subtle lightening of denseness o'er head, and timed that last repose to wait atop a hill, and hope for a clear setting of the sun. 

Verily fate was kind to my desire, for it was the only mentionable dusk I had witnessed in the last seven years. The sky turned a pink blush of gray against the blue of storm and remained thus for a while. It was beautiful, and I knew then that its memory would have to last a long time, lest I forget beauty's fair face and take it for lost. 

I slept uneasily after that, if I slept at all. Foreboding was heavy upon my mind. I knew that I needed to rest, I knew there would be ceaseless fighting met on the morrow, and I knew, somehow, that it would be the last chance to sleep I would have, before the battle ended, one way or another. What I did not know was from where the dread in my heart came. I did not fear my own death; I would willingly sacrifice my life for any other. And I believed we would win, so considered no failure... Ah, but I knew. I did not allow myself to acknowledge it then, but I knew. 

As such, it was met with no surprise, the silent figure standing over me in the dark emptiness of my tent. I blinked my eyes to indicate wakefulness, even as mirth found a way to twist my lips. I remember how he started suddenly, realizing only then where he stood. Our eyes locked, and no words were needed. If I were to have spoken, I would have made a fool of myself, trying to convince us both how we were wrong in our mutual knowledge. If he had spoke— ah, but he did. 

Gil-galad always did things; kind things, explanatory things, precautionary things, even if they were unessential. It was his lot in life to be perpetually official, I once teased him. 

"I meant not to wake you," he apologized. 

"I meant not to wake," said I. 

He smiled, comprehending the meaning of all that I did not say. We meant for little in life, but that alters even less; for there we were, where we did not necessarily mean to be. I could see everything in Gil-galad's eyes, nothing of him kept from me by the lightlessness of night. I believe he wished it were otherwise. He did not want me to see what he thought I did not already know. I would have tried to protect him as well, if our predicaments had been switched. 

"Will you stay?" Again he started, barely wincing that time. 

"I cannot," he said, another apology. Always so sorry for things that were never his fault. So like myself. 

"We both need sleep, and neither of us wishes to be alone." He shifted physically from reservations within, and his eyes left mine."But do as you will." I watched him stand there, still wearing his armor, a great Elvenking on the outside and a lonely, fearful creature within. Soon he had made his decision, and considered only how to proceed. 

"Ereinion," I extended my hand. "Just come." 

He removed his outermost armor, probably more of it than was safe even within camp, as my hand remained, the invitation ever open. When he approached to grasp me, I drew it closer, just out of his reach; and he smiled. Only when he was lying beside me and sharing my blanket did I finally allow my hand to be had. 

We lay thus for a while in silence, side by side in every way. It felt so natural to be that close to him. I was reminded of my childhood, when I would sleep along his side, Elros lying opposite me, our joined hands rested atop our King's heart as we counted the stars together. Ever beloved was Gil-galad, and my brother and I rejoiced to visit him on Balar... before Sirion fell, ere we were spirited away. 

Years later, as two dignitaries in Lindon, the King and I would occasionally make escape from duty and obligation long enough to share a goblet, tales, laughter, and fall asleep someplace under the stars we loved. For the Elven-lord I called cousin, friend, and King, there could be none fonder in my heart. I imagine it was little different for his part. He regarded me as closest kin, dubbed me his herald, trusted me as his confidant. It was love of many kinds we shared, thus unique, and we knew well our time to honor it was ending. 

After a duration of silence, Gil-galad spoke. "All that is mine, I offer to you, Elrond. I once named you the son of my heart, and I do now name you my heir, if such words need be spoken aloud." 

"I want nothing more than I already have, lord. And nothing less." 

"You must take what you deserve in life, Elrond." 

"What else I deserve will come to me." 

Gil-galad's jaw then set in tensions unspoken, and he said, "Would you have me personally place the crown upon your head then, ere I am dead?" 

"Nay, lord. Place your love upon me now, and I shall be well content." 

And I was, that night; we both were. 

In kinship we were bonded by blood, by friendship we were bonded in trust; that bond withstood many trials, and none was more everlasting. That night was the last chance we would have to hold to our connection, and we held tight, even into sleep. It was the last time Gil-galad would walk in Elven-dreams, and I trod there beside him. The last time he walked upon Middle-earth, I was beside him as well. And the last word he said was heard to my ears alone, as fate would have it. 

I remember when Cirdan was able to pull me away from the smoking corpse of our King – in my state of panic, I would not accept all hope was lost, and tried stubbornly to heal Gil-galad; the price I paid was a fair share of my own flesh and pride. As the Shipwright frantically tended my sustained burns, ignoring his own, his voice broke with grief when he asked, "What did he tell you?" 

He so desperately needed to know. Gil-galad was as much a son to Cirdan as he was a father to me. I could not deny him such closure as knowing his child's last utterance for the sake of my own comfort; though how it hurt me to repeat! Shutting my eyes against it all, I answered, "El... he said 'El!'." 

Gil-galad was not talking to me when he spoke, though Cirdan might have guessed otherwise. I will never forget the King's destroyed body, and the fragile light yet glittering in his lidless eyes, as they stared through a sudden break in the endless clouds above, at the stars beyond. And despite his scalded voice he cried with his last breath, 'El!' 

Thus it was at the end as it was in the beginning: an Elvenking in his last second alive exclaiming at the stars, as the Firstborn named them millennia ago with their first word. Is that how I knew then our time was over; that the Elves had come full circle at last? I know not. All I could see when I thought back was Gil-galad's lidless eyes, and how I felt it meant something even more. Lidless eyes, seeing beyond mere vision... 

It was relatively easy for me, after that, to move on. Eyes that looked to Gil-galad before fell upon me in his stead. Some of the King's responsibilities and commitments to matters of state were undertaken by Cirdan, but many still by me. There was much to do, simply in getting home, and then in other things. Plenty of other things... though I do not recall what exactly they were. But I do know if not for the saving grace that there was little time to think at all, I might have despaired. But I did not, I could not: I had things to do – supposedly. 

The King's crown was smelted on the battlefield, just as his armor, and I never ordered for a replica to be crafted. In fact, I imposed the opposite. Gil-galad was the last High King of the Noldor in Exile, and I was the first to say so. Henceforth none dared called me King, though it would be a millennium until I was simply 'Master' again. Even Celeborn and Thranduil addressed me as Lord thereafter, although it's possible they had done so before, and I simply failed to notice. Many things I failed to notice, in those hectic years before Gil-galad's fall, and the muddled years following. Through a mournful fog I struggled during those dark days, and if I bumped into walls whilst I walked from time to time, none asked why. 

An entire century passed, and what I remember best of that time, though still vaguely, is letters – many received and many sent. Seems I wrote everything down in letters, and knew where they needed to go. All of my sorrows, pains, and worries were printed by my hand, stamped by my insignia, and delivered by my most trusted messenger. As often as need be I would write, until everything made sense again, until I could think and eat and breathe again. 

I must have written enough, for I did indeed function to the standards and requirements of my office. But without the clarity those letters provided, if not for the escape of reading the comforting replies and spelling out yet more thoughts that I could not speak, I would not have managed, not even with all of the assistance offered to me. 

After one hundred years of ignoring whose place I had taken in role and authority, of ignoring my heart and my mind, I started suddenly, realizing only then where I stood. Before me was the creature I already knew I loved. I had not forgotten, as such; it merely seemed as though she was there all along. The only light in the darkest span of my life. 

One early morning during the still-young season of spring, Celebrian walked towards me smiling, and stuffed a note into my hand. 

"There!" she said decisively, a twinkle in her eye. "Now I am spared the dejected look of my father's message-rider, were I to give her yet another letter to deliver for me." 

I remember not which words at first found their way to my tongue, but Celebrian replied kindly, "And hail, Elrond Peredhil! It is indeed long since we met, and 'twas a short tryst, last time." 

I recall something about our letters that I broached, and she laughed, answering, "Yes, I agree. For a century it feels that I have spoken with you, in more ways than mere written words. But truly I have kept your expressions close to heart, and only wished that we too could be nearer." Then she blushed, having said more than she intended. Her next words set my heart free from doubt and loneliness. "Walk with me?" 

And to that, I clearly remember my reply. "For as long as I can." 

The next letter I wrote was sent to Celeborn and Galadriel. Could I have printed it whilst down upon my knees, I would have, for to attain permission to betroth their daughter, verily I was prepared to beg. A mere decade later, on a bright and joyous spring morning, Celebrian and I were wed, and my life started anew, in every way it could have. 

Ereinion Gil-galad was the last High King of the Noldor in Exile. After he was destroyed my life ended as well, in most ways. That is to say, everything changed. I could no longer be the same person without him. The King defines his Herald, and without one, the other is null. Yet it was not my time to end, so I adapted, I endured. 

The Last Alliance was over, the war won, and I scorned the pointless victory then, with all of my heart that remained. The Men returned to their dwellings, their foolishness and their pettiness. Thranduil and his sadly reduced forces returned to Greenwood, and he took his inheritance as King of that woodland realm; likewise Amroth returned to Lorien as King of the Golden Wood. Cirdan returned to the shore, as was his wont, and many Elves went with him, some to Sail, others to dwell in Middle-earth a while yet. Celeborn had his family awaiting in Edhellond, and with him went the rest of his kin. While I... I returned to Rivendell, as its Lord and Master, with much less of myself than I had when last I left. 

Often I wonder, what might have become of me, had Celeborn not so graciously bestowed permission to write his beloved daughter, or if I had made less candid use of the privilege – for how surely those letters saved me! Aye, I wonder; and to this day, I know not. Yesterday, I ceased worrying about it, at least. Also yesterday, my third child was born. A daughter has come this time, surprising no one except her brothers. She is sleeping now, in her mother's arms, and I am content. 

Arwen will be the last, I know, but this bothers me not. I have two sons, already grown, and a daughter newly born. I have Imladris, and my father's star shining brightest upon my House. And now I have joys to equalize my sorrows, thanks to Celebrian, who brought all of that which I had none, and gave me the will to acknowledge all of that which I had left. 

Like a well-constructed building, I am sturdy. Celebrian is the foundation I stand upon as surely as I do this earth. And all other pieces of my life, some heavy and burdensome, now lean not upon me but against each other. While my troubles bother my other troubles I am left unmolested, out of the fight, out of the rain, and my eyes are dry enough to watch the world fade, and my mind is clear enough to laugh at cares which are not mine; for I have paid my dues. I have pierced the darkness and reached the light, I have shunned the mistakes of my forefathers and outlived their curse, and I did it without breaking. 

I feel freed, and though this world and my people's place in it does fade, there is time yet to rejoice. There is a harmony in my life that I never knew could exist before. For once I do not think of the future, unless it is counted by when I might next hold my children or wife. I no longer see what will or might become of anything. I have lost none of my insight in this, the fates and destinies of Arda and its inhabitants. Only lately, my eyes have been focused on other, smaller, _closer_ things. 

Recently I wrote a poem about happiness, with music to accompany it, and tonight I will sing it for all to hear. It is time to make some new memories, I deem, while time there still is to be had, and gathered, and spent. 

I believe I know at last how Iluvatar meant for his children to live, and it was not in tears or war or regret: rather just like this, in bliss. 

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	4. Twilight Forsaken

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**2510 of the Third Age**   


I do not know on which cliff I stand. Nor do I remember how or when I arrived here. All I know is that my world has ended, for all it was worth, and I care not to begin another. 

Celebrian has gone, and after her, our children. Arwen to seek solitude and distraction with her grandparents in Lothlorien. Elrohir and Elladan to extract amends and cleave some peace into these once again troubled lands. I cannot blame them for leaving, any of them. But I can blame myself. I could not heal her. I know well that no healer this side of the Sea could have done more or better than I... but that does not matter. For all my power and wisdom, I was not enough. Celebrian is gone, and with her went the best part of me. Celebrian is gone, and after her went our children, with every last bit of me. 

All of my stars, gone from under my roof, gone from my House and my sight. Earendil's star does not shine despite the clouds this eve, and I do not blame him either. I was not enough. I was never enough. I believe I understand how Elwing felt, my dear mother. Curse me, I think I know now how they all felt; Feanor and his seven sorry sons, Turgon and his fateful pride, the Kinslayers and their desperate flight. Curse me! But I _want_ something! Some _'thing'_, for the love of life! I want some thing that is only mine, some thing that cannot leave or be taken, some thing that exists solely for me, because I created it or because I captured it or because I earned it. It can be any thing, it simply must not feel or need or want of its own volition. It must be some thing of mine, that I may dote on and toil over and gloat about, and it will do nothing but be splendid or present or fair – whatever I contrived it to be! 

And then I would have something forever, with me always, by my side, in my hand, before my eyes, close to heart. And I would never lose everything, not again, not ever, because I would always have my brilliant Silmaril or my hidden city or my hard-won independence, and I would be content. 

Ai... but no. I want nothing of that kind. Not truly. Perhaps I want nothing at all, for a change. Seems no matter how I strove, I was happiest when surrounded by 'things' of a sort; people, prosperity, peace. It may be that we were not created to be satisfied with nothing. But then, one cannot suffer for deprivation if they surrender all of what they have, and their ability to acquire more. No Imladris, no Heirs of Isildur, no White Council, no Nameless Fear... could I make that change? Am I ready to be ended? 

By the stinging wind on my face I am reminded of Vilya, who belongs to no one save itself. Nay, I would not covet Vilya, I would not dare. The Three are not possessed, but kept. I am Vilya's keeper, not its master, and it would not miss me in the presence of whom I have arranged it bestowed to in the case of my... absence. 

I step further out on the cliff, reaching the sheer edge, and hear the waterfall thundering from not far off. So close, to the edge, to the end. Is this what I want as my last desire? Nothing? It is not like me to be rash; it would be like me to ponder a while, then ignore. But as I make to back away from the ledge, a sharp pain steals my breath away. 

Ai... aye, I remember now, why I came and where I am. 'Tis no mere cliff on which I stand, but the highest in Imladris; and I arrived on no mindless whim, but a mission of mercy. It is the pain and the silence, following in my footsteps, everywhere I go – everywhere that Celebrian has been. I think I can still smell her sometimes, in the hallways or in our bed, akin to lavender and honey, and not if Rivendell burned to the ground would my head be clear of that familiar scent. 

I now have a choice before me. Either I am taken to death by my grief, during some dark and comfortless night, or I leave willingly for the West, and hope to survive the journey... or, I just walk forward. Nay, I will not be taken, I refuse. But even so, I might not last to the Havens. So I walk? Or do I run? One way is swift and certain, the other is a long road of explanations and farewells. I have never chosen the easy way, for the sake of simplicity. I know not if I can; but I take that final step to find out. 

For a second I am falling without fear. Then I am grasped by arms trembling with it, the terror I am too numbed by heartache to notice. Backwards I am reeled, faster than my fall pulled me down, and I find my eyes had been closed the entire time. I open them to starlight, visible through an impossibly opportune breach in the clouds, and I sit upon the ground, half cradled by someone unexpected. 

"Glorfindel." 

He searches for a way to excuse his trespass; in his eyes it is plain he watched me for long. "You fell, my Lord," he lies, knowing it as well as I do. 

"You caught me," is the reply I hear myself make. "Why?" 

As he thinks, his familiar face twists with a worry I have never seen manifested there before. "I could not bear to see you fall, uncertain if you had considered the landing," he answers tightly, pinned somewhere between duty and inequity. 

Every means has an end, aye, I know that. But mayhap he is right in that I did not consider... all consequences. My one moment of selfish reflection, and Glorfindel caught me. I look upon his face, creased in distress with the injustice of it all; doubtless my appearance is little different. 

"All of my stars are gone." Could one so bright as he understand? He looks skyward, in vain at the again hidden hope, then back down, perhaps wondering how he might bring out the heavens for me. 

"They are gone," Glorfindel agrees, "but only for a time." Into his arms I am guided, and there I hear, "Would you not settle a while, for one golden flower instead?" His voice is laced with gentle irony, and it comforts me – a reminder of better days. 

And his meaning spreads through my mind and heart like a warm tonic. A golden flower, that had been there all along. Nay, that is not settling. It is realizing what you have lost, and knowing what you still have. It is choosing life over death. I made that choice already, long ago. Tonight, Glorfindel reminded me. 

"Why?" 

"I want to help you," is his sincere answer, "to protect you. I always have." Tears flow with his words, just as softly, but for a reason unknown to me. Perhaps I will learn later what I cannot fathom now. Perhaps I cry as well, and merely do not feel it. There is little I feel this minute, save the stillness of an empty night, and the warmth of his arms, hands, and fingers, as they steal wetness from my cheeks, bringing feeling to my skin there also. 

"Nothing else have I ever wanted more," Glorfindel says, holding me with his eyes, then again to his bosom, close to heart. 

I have never conceived of my worth to Glorfindel; if I had, I might have been even more shocked than I am now. This is wrong! Backwards and inside out and upside down. He has assumed _my_ lot – _I_ care for others, keep them safe and protected and well. I give, I toil, I sacrifice and suffer, so others will not have to. It is what I do and who I am and how I have defined myself for as long as I can remember. But Glorfindel... he— 

Glorfindel could be anywhere, doing anything, with anyone... Yet he is here, holding me, in this, my moment of most dire need. He has always been here... Suddenly I am held even closer. He will always be here, with me, for me, because of me; and naught else. 

I have never been touched like this. But I will be touched like this, whenever Glorfindel knows it is what I lack. The twilight I forsake, for one golden flower under the sun. To see another day, one must accept the dark along with the light. There will always be light after the dark, and sometimes, _this_ time, within. 

*****end*****


End file.
